


All that comes after

by pamymex3girl



Series: Big Bang Stories [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s04e20 The Rapture, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamymex3girl/pseuds/pamymex3girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire Novak is born on a Thursday. So is her father for that matter. </p>
<p>One day an angel comes down from the heaven's above, all light and peace and promise, and takes her father and just walkes away. This is all that comes after. </p>
<p>A story of Claire's journey to accept what happened to her family and maybe move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All that comes after

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the supernatural gen big bang. 
> 
> Started as simply an idea to write about Claire Novak, because she and her father are some of my favorite guest characters on the show. 
> 
> I would like to thank jennytork for having been my beta reader. 
> 
> Also a thank you to silentserendipity13 for having been my artist and for the beautiful artwork you made for my fic. 
> 
> All recognizable characters and situations belong to the creators of supernatural and not to me.

 

Claire Novak is born on a Thursday. 

On a random Thursday years ago and, according to her father at least, it rained that day (not that _that_ truly matters.) Her father used to tell her that the moment he met her was the most important moment of his life – she wonders, at times, if this is still the case or if she has been replaced by Castiel the angel – and that she was the most beautiful and important little girl in the whole world. Life was perfect back then, or as perfect as it could be ever be, and her father with his wife by his side and his little girl in his arms imagined the most beautiful, happy future.  Because back then everything, absolutely everything, was still possible.

On that Thursday, long ago, when Claire was born. 

Later, many years later, she’ll think _that_ might have been important – because as it turns out Castiel _is_ the angel of Thursday and she’s sure, so sure, that has to mean something even if she’s not sure _what_ – that it was some kind of omen for what was to come (it wasn’t, not really.) She is, and always will be, the only child of Jimmy and Amelia Novak and for ten beautiful years she will have the _perfect_ life and the _perfect_ family. And then one day – just another completely random, seemingly unimportant day – an angel will come down from the heavens above, all light and beauty and promise, and he’ll take her father and just walk away. 

Her father is also born on a Thursday but she’s not really sure if that matters. 

(Sometimes she wonders what would have happened if they had been born on another day, say Wednesday, but she doesn’t think that would have really mattered.)

She’s not sure, at all, if anything matters. 

Or ever will again.

When Claire is five she plays an angel in a play – which later will seem almost prophetic but it’s probably nothing more than a random coincidence – and when she’s six she learns how to pray. Actually that’s not truth, not really at last, she _knows_ this because when she thinks about it later, should she ever choose to do so, she’ll know – with the kind of certainty that really only comes with the years – that she _must_ have prayed before  that and that therefore, logically, she must have known _how_ to. But of course, having been far too young, she doesn’t actually remember this. So, to her, it almost seems like it never happened at all (and to her parents, who would tell her one day, it all went by too fast.) The first time she remembers praying, it’s like this: she’s six and sitting on her knees beside her bed, her hands clasped together, her eyes closed and, of course, her father sits by her side. That’s the biggest constant in her life, really: her father. He’s always there, the beginning of everything, her guide leading her to where she _should_ go, to where he believes she belongs. This is the truth: she had faith because he did (still does), she prays because he did, she goes to church because he takes her and later, much later – and yet, at the same tim,e far too soon – she’ll become an angel, no matter how briefly, because he will become one first. 

She’s almost positive it all has to mean something. 

Maybe she just wants it to. 

After her father disappears – that first time when they don’t actually know what happened and have to live with all the questions – they continue going to church. And Claire knows, she _knows_ , that her mother doesn’t really want to go but Claire _needs_ to, though truthfully she doesn’t know why she feels the need to do so. Perhaps, she thinks, it’s her way of staying connected to her missing father, perhaps it is just because she’s used to going every week and not going would be too big of a change and she’s not sure she can handle anymore change. And she thinks that is probably also the reason her mother takes her even though she herself does not wish to go.

At least that’s what Claire thinks. Maybe she’s wrong about the entire affair (but then who really cares anymore?) 

She knows a lot of things now, things she should not now (that first time after her father disappeared.) Like the fact that she heard their last argument before her father went away – and she hadn’t _meant_ to hear it, not really, she’d wanted to ignore it but it had proven impossible. She never told her mother that, nor did she tell her that for the longest time she blamed her for the disappearance of her father. After all, if they hadn’t fought, her daddy wouldn’t have left that day (she got over that, eventually, and really, she thinks her mother always knew what she felt.) The thing, is she also knows her mother cries herself to sleep almost every night and that hurts, but she doesn’t know how to help her. She doesn’t even know how to make herself feel better. She knows all this, but she doesn’t tell and her mother holds her silence, too - because the truth is, it’s far easier than talking about all the things they lost and all the things they are still _losing_. 

It’s far easier to go to church and not talk about it than face the reality of her father’s disappearance (even though, no matter how much time passes, it’s all she can think about. She’d suspected, at the time that it would _always_ be like that.)

Every single Sunday, for almost a whole year, in a church or in the sanctity of her own room, Claire prays to the God her father loved so much. She asks Him – or whoever it is that listens to prayers – to please protect her daddy, wherever he may be, and to bring him back home to her and her mom. She was sure back then, so sure, that God would do this for her, because her daddy loved him very much and surely it meant that God loved him as well, and her by extension, and that all meant, it had to at least, that he would grant her wishes – and she had firmly believed this with, she now knows, the naiveté of a child. 

After her father leaves for the second time, her mother stops going to church. 

_She’s_ done pretending. 

(Claire isn’t.)

 

 

The first time _it_ happened – the first time she and her father stood close enough to touch but were actually miles apart – she wasn’t even aware something was happening at all. 

Then again, who would have ever guessed an _angel_ would be the cause of everything? (Because angels? Angels were meant to be _love_ and _light_ and _good_ and they were not meant to rip families _apart.)_

She didn’t understand it then, she didn’t understand for the longest time – truthfully she _still_ doesn’t – and by the time she discovers what _actually_ happened in that moment, it’s far too late to change what it means to her. This is what she remembers: she was scared because her parents were fighting, which was not something that happened frequently back then - and she hadn’t been listening, not on purpose, at least, but it had proven impossible to block the sounds out. She remembers thinking that the sound of her parents fighting was the worst thing ever but the silence that followed had been far worse – and she’s never been able to find the adequate words to describe it.  

When she heard the doors open she _knew –_ somehow, though she can’t truly explain how – that she had to stop her father from walking through those doors - because if he did, she would never see him again. In the end, she had been wrong about that – at least a little – but in that moment, it had been so important to stop him. And of course, by walking through those doors, her father had changed their entire world, and though she’s not sure if it wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t walked through that door – she accepts when she’s older that it probably wouldn’t have mattered at all - it matters little. With one word, though she did not know that then, her father had changed her whole world and the life she had lived until that moment – and the life she thought she’d have – faded away until it was nothing but a distant dream that didn’t even seem _real_. 

And all the things she had believed in, all the things she’d thought she _knew_ would turn out to be a lie. 

(But she _wouldn’t_ learn that until she was older.)

Now that she’s older and she has felt Castiel close to her, she knows that all the consequences and all the pain she and her mother had felt had not been Castiel’s intention. She knows now that he had not truly understood what would happen, what it would mean to _her_ if her father was to suddenly disappear and never return, and how much it would destroy both her and her mother. She’s not sure if he _ever_ understood what he’d done, not really, but she knows now that it had not been done on purpose and he had not intended for it to go this way. 

But it _is_ what happened. 

She’d found herself at the bottom of the stairs, opening the door before she’d really realized she’d even moved. But by then, even if it had only taken a few minutes, it had already been too late. Castiel had already been there and her father? Well, her father had been _gone_. She doesn’t think anything she did could have truly changed the outcome, but she likes to believe it would have. It’s easier that way, after all. Somehow, though she can’t explain it. Not really. She thinks it might have something to do with the fact that Castiel could also use her to walk the world but she’s not sure.  She’d known that her father was gone, but she hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“Daddy?”

“I am not your father.”

It only took Castiel five words to shatter her heart, to destroy her life and change everything she thought she knew about her father. Now she knows – like she knows so many other things she did not know before – that when Castiel said it, he had not meant it as a bad thing. He hadn’t used it to hurt herd. There had been no cruel intentions behind his words. It had just been a statement of a fact, just the truth that he wasn’t her father, though he looked like him. He had not understood – and perhaps he still doesn’t – the effect those words would have on her, coming from one of the persons she loved the most. Now, she knows it had not been her father who said them - that those words belong to the angel inside him now - but it didn’t really change anything. 

Because at the end of the day it was still _his_ voice, still _his_ body and still _her_ father. 

This is what happened: Castiel the angel took her father and walked away. 

This is the way she remembers it: her father told her she wasn’t important and then walked away. 

The difference matters, though perhaps only to her. 

And she – the daughter of Jimmy Novak who would one day be an angel herself – had just stood there, staring at the space her father had just occupied, and she’d said _nothing._ She’d been unable to move or make a sound, unable to do anything but watch her father fade away. She doesn’t know how long she stood there, but eventually her mother came down and asked her what she was doing there - she never did answer that question – and told her to go back into the house, for it was far too cold to stand outside (she wonders sometimes if her mother had known that she had just seen her father walk away, but she’s never dared to ask.) 

(Later, her mother and the police ask her what happened on that porch and she’d lied, something she still feels terrible about that, though not really, at the same time. She’d told them that he’d been almost gone by the time she came down, and that by the time she’d found her voice he’d faded away. She’d stayed outside, hoping her father would come back but he never did. She’s still not sure if they ever believed her, or if they somehow knew there was something more.)

She hadn’t known he wasn’t her father, but an angel. 

She hadn’t known the truth. 

But she had known what it felt like to be abandoned, and _that_ was all that mattered. 

  


 

It’s her mother who decides they will no longer go to church, after her father leaves for the second time.

And Claire understands why, she _does_ , she understands the anger and confusion that dominate her mother. After all, how could she not? In the end, it is far worse than the first time her father disappears, because now they _know_ the truth and they have to learn to live with it. With the knowledge they now possess of a world they wished to know nothing about and the knowledge that, no matter what, her father would never, ever return. And it isn’t _fair_ that the angels came and shattered their world and Claire _should_ be angry – she feels she has every right in the world to be angry, no matter what anybody else believes – but she isn’t. She’s sad, she’s lost and alone and she feels many other things, but anger is not one of them (sometimes she wishes she were, because that would make everything so much _easier_.) She thinks it might have something to do with the fact that she felt Castiel and he’d been a part of her and she feels that if she hadn’t known what an angel felt like – something she could never describe, no matter how many times she tried – she _would_ be angry _._ But she had felt it and it’s something she can never forget (and no matter what her mother wishes, it’s not something she actually _wants_ to forget. She’s not sure if she ever wants to feel it again, but it’s not something she’ll ever feel again because her father offered his life so she wouldn’t have to, so it’s not like it even matters.)

Instead they stay inside their new house and ignore the whisper of their overly religious new neighbors, who all think _they_ knowbest.

(“You should honor God more,” they whisper. And Claire wants to scream “I gave the angels my father, isn’t that enough?”)

Claire never asks to go to church; she’s too tired to start a fight. Instead, she waits, hoping her mother will someday change her mind even if she knows, deep inside, she never actually will. She waits three weeks before she sneaks out of the house and enters the first church she finds. And she’s sure, so sure, that the neighbors talk about that too, about the fact that the daughter of the single mother who’s just moved to their small town has to sneak out of the house just to be able to go to church. As if it’s any of their business, as if they have any right to judge her or her mother, as if they _know_ anything. She wonders sometimes what those same people – who think they know everything there is to know about her and her mother – would say and do if they were to discover the truth, or if they had to spend just one day in their shoes. They wouldn’t be so different, though they might say now that they would be; she thinks they’d act just the same as she and her mother do. There are times, not many though, she wonders who had chosen _this_ neighborhood as their new home, but she never does find out.

It’s comforting to sit in the back of the church and just listen.

To the world around her, to the silence that’s comforting and stare at the beautiful paintings and think about all the things she now knows, all the things she learned from Castiel’s mind. And about the feelings that overpower her at times, feelings she shouldn’t really have. The priest, a kind man whose name she forgets as soon as he tells her – and really, she swears it’s not something she did on purpose, it just sort of happened – asks her, on one of her first visits, if there was something he could do for her, something she needed perhaps or an answer to a question that was plaguing her.

There are a million questions Claire needs answers too, a lot of things she _needs_ or _wants_.

There is nothing, however, that _he_ can give her.

Sometimes – more often than she cares to admit and it’s not something she would _ever_ tell her mother for fear of scaring or hurting her – she wants Castiel, _her_ angel, to come back to her. Because the thing is, she felt _safe_ when he was with her, protected, and so many other things she could never explain. Not even to herself (truthfully she doesn’t think there are actually words for the feelings she had.) She’d learned things she probably shouldn’t know and she understands things nobody else does or ever will. She misses him, not as much as her father, but a _lot_ , which is, she’ll admit, extremely odd. Because, in reality, he is the one who took everything from her. And she wants, desperately at times, for him to come back but she knows he never, ever will, because her father made sure of that (sometimes, not often but sometimes, she hates him for that, but mostly she hates her father for saying yes, for not understanding the consequences, for choosing the angel _over_ her.)

The thing she wants the most however is the one thing she can’t have. That is, of course, for her father to come back. She wants the life back that she had before the angel invaded it.

But this kind priest, who wants so much to help her, can’t give her that.

The only one, who can, Castiel the angel of the Lord, is the only one who won’t.

Despite that, she keeps going to church – and eventually, the priest stops asking her questions and the neighbors stop staring at her, but she suspects they’re still talking about them – but her mother never does again. Claire knows they both know she does it – sneak out every Sunday to go to church – but her mother never tries to stop her or talk about it (which is far easier than the alternative, although it might actually be healthier to talk about it. Then again, Claire has no idea where they would find someone who would listen to them and not declare them insane.) She keeps going despite the fact that she knows that the answers to her questions will never come, that nobody will come to tell her what is happening in the world out there, and nobody will ever return what was lost (stolen from her.)

Every single Sunday she sits in the back and she listens to the singing and the priest talking and she thinks of angels and promises and heaven and love and her father and _Castiel._

But she never, ever prays.

She doesn’t see the point, not anymore.

(Claire is _done_ pretending.)

 

 

The things that happened when Castiel came to her are mostly a blur. 

It’s not that she doesn’t remember, she _does_ , but it’s almost like everything happened to someone else and she just stood apart and watched it all unfold. She remembers the feeling of terror that paralyzed her the second she realized her mother wasn’t her mother. She remembers the demons that came and dragged her away – and perhaps a braver person would have fought them off, but in the end, all she was is just a little girl – and thinking “I’m going to die, I’m going to die and I am never going to see my daddy again.” She’s not entirely sure what happened after that, but she does know how it ended: with her tied to a chair for God-knows-how-long in an old abandoned warehouse. And then her daddy comes, her hero. But in the end, there is nothing he can do to save them, because without Castiel he’s not strong enough and she knew then that if they did not get help soon they would die there, all of them together. Then they shot him and she _thinks_ she might have screamed -but then again she might not have.

Then there’s a light, though she does not know where it came from – and she doesn’t think anyone else actually s _aw_ the light – and a voice, clear and warm and powerful. 

“Claire Novak, I can save you. I can save your parents. But you must give me permission to use your body. You must say yes.”

She didn’t really think about it - probably because she was so scared, or maybe because her father had just gotten shot and if they don’t get help, he’s going to die – she just says _yes._

What happened, after that, the feeling of having an angel inside her and all that happened is something she’s never been able to properly describe. But then, the truth is, she’s never truly tried either. There are, of course, not many people she _could_ explain this to – most people that heard this tale would think she was crazy, after all – and the only one who does believe her and she can reach, and her mother, doesn’t actually _want_ to know. And Claire doesn’t want to scare her, doesn’t want to tell her that it was somehow both the _best_ thing that ever happened to her and the _worst._ There are just no words, at least none she knows, to describe the feelings, the sensations and the only one who could help her make some sense of her – her father of course – is completely beyond her reach and he forever will be. She’d felt safe in his presence and strong and lost and filled with, well _light_ (there is simply no other way to describe it.) And then he’d stood, using her body, and saved them all. Castiel’s feelings were overpowering and important and she felt them all as if they were her own (his distrust of Sam, his anger, his fear, his love and friendship for Dean, his anger and frustration and his regret, pride and love for her father and for _h_ er.)

He’d knelt beside her father and spoke with _her_ voice. 

(Which must have been as strange to her father as it had been to her on that porch so long ago – and yet not that long.) 

And it was her turn then to be far away from him, beyond _his_ reach as he had once been beyond _hers;_ because this time the words were Castiel’s but it was her voice and it’s his promises, his explanations. He cared for her father, in his own way, she remembers that. And he had truly wanted him to find the peace and love he _deserved_. Her father stared at her, trying to see and reach his little girl, but of course he could not and she had been able to see him, but only barely, and she, too, had been unable to reach him. (Perhaps that was the way her father felt that night when they stood on that porch and he walked away.)

“Of course we keep our promises; of course you have our gratitude. You served us well, your work is done. It’s time to go home now, your real home. You’ll rest forever in the fields of the Lord. Rest now, Jimmy.”

“Claire?”

“She’s with me, now.”

“No, take me, Castiel. Please take me.”

Everything might have been different, for this time _she_ was the angel’s host during their conversation, but the end result was the same as before: her father says yes to the angel and walks away leaving her (and her mother) behind. This time she does not watch him go, she stays on the ground where Castiel leaves her, because to her, _once_ was more than enough.  She’s tired, so tired – because apparently, hosting an angel of the Lord does that to people – and she suspects that even if she had wanted to, she would not have been able to move. It was Dean Winchester – who’d inspired so many emotions inside Castiel – who carried her to the car and then later back into their old house. (She’s grateful for this, at least, because Castiel’s emotions still linger, and they will for a long time, and though she does not understand them, she does feel the same way. She trusts Dean, she does _not_ trust Sam, despite the fact that he, too, had saved her.) She wasn’t afraid anymore because she’d known, from the moment Castiel spoke to her, though she did not fully understand, that they were safe once again, that they could return to the house she had once called home. At the same time, she also knew they would never stay there, mostly because it felt strange to return there but, at that specific moment, there was really nowhere else to go. 

She had so many questions in that moment, things Castiel had not told her – or maybe he had, but the onslaught of information had been too much for her to be able to remember everything – but she’d not asked her mother anything. Because she knew her mother might not actually have any answers, or that if she did, she would lie to her. But she’d been afraid too, afraid her mother would ask her what it felt like to be an angel and why her father had chosen the angel over his family. And Claire, well, she had no answers for her, because she had pretty much the same questions. She didn’t ask Sam, because Castiel hadn’t trusted him and, despite all that happened, Claire felt that if she could not trust Castiel, then that what was left of her world would shatter. 

In the end she’d asked Dean, because Castiel trusted him and because she felt, somehow, that he would be the one to tell her the truth. 

“He’s never coming back, is he?”

He didn’t need her to explain who she was talking about, nor did he try to change the subject or sugarcoat the answer, something for which she was eternally grateful. He’d just looked at her with knowing eyes, as if he knew what she was going through – as if, once upon a time, one of his parents had made a choice to help him that had cost them everything – and sat down beside her. She could almost see his brain working, as if he was weighing his options, deciding whether or not he was going to tell her the truth, but in the end he must have decided that she was strong enough to handle it. Or maybe he just thought she’d gone through enough, and that after - all that had happened - she deserved some semblance of the truth. (Or maybe he hadn’t been able to think of a good lie. Who knows?) 

“I don’t really know. Probably not.”

“But…But why would he do that? Why would he tell Castiel to take him instead? Why not just go to heaven?”

“Because he’s your father, and loving and protecting you is his job. And he loves you. Of this, I am sure.”

There were a million other things she wanted to know and ask him and, though she was sure he’d try his best to answer them, she’s equally sure he doesn’t actually have the answers himself. He seemed just as lost as she is in this whole angel business. She supposes she could try asking Castiel himself, and perhaps he will even answer her, but she doesn’t want to see him. She’s not strong enough for that yet. She understands, somewhat, why her father took her place. Dean was right - he was (is) her father. What she can’t understand, what she can’t fathom, is why her father would decide to say yes in the first place on that porch a year ago. But Dean probably doesn’t have the answers for her, and so she does not ask. 

There are times Claire wonders whether her father had known he would leave them forever when he said yes. 

She doesn’t think he did, though. 

It changes nothing. 

 

There are times that people ask about her father. 

Usually this happens the first time she meets them – because it’s one of those many questions that people _always_ ask – or the first time they come to her house. In the moment they realize that she only has a mother and no father, they always feel the need to ask; as if they have the right to know these things, as if they have the right to ask, as if she has no choice but to tell them because _they_ want to know. For the longest time, Claire hadn’t known how to answer that question, hadn’t known how to even approach the subject. In the beginning, right after her father left for the second time, when they’d just moved to this small town, she’d answer – if she chose to answer at all, which didn’t happen very often – “He left.” She’d tell them that one day, her father had just been gone and he had never returned and most people – specifically older people as it turned out – would look at her with pity in their eyes and say, “We’re sorry.” Like somehow it was _their_ fault, like their words would change anything, like everything would be better for her if they just told her they were sorry. She knows that they all believe they _know_ what happened.  They think that he left them, a dead beat dad - and she hated them for that. She resented them for talking badly about the man who had given up everything – including heaven and eternal peace – to save his daughter and allow her to live her life the way she wanted to, even if it had to be without him there.  

But nobody knew that, and as such, they believed they knew the truth. 

It seemed wrong that people thought ill of him, but she could do nothing but hold her silence. 

Months and years later, when people ask her, she’ll always say, “He’s gone.”

People can make what they want of that – and they will, they’ll decide on their own what they think is the truth – they can read whatever they want in her words. They’ll never, ever, get to the truth anyway, so what’s the point? Nobody could guess after all, nobody but the people who had gone through the same things. And sometimes, she wonders how many others there are out there. How many children watched one of their parents walk away because an angel needed to walk the earth? Most people, however, did not guess and just listened to her answer and came to their own conclusions. Mostly, they think her father is dead which is really the easiest answer of them all, and those people that think that are also “sorry,” but at least they don’t make her want to punch them. Nobody asks a second time. Nobody wants to know the details unless she gives them voluntarily, and even then, they don’t really _want_ to know. That’s the truth: most people don’t ask because they really want to know, but because they somehow feel they _should_ know.

They always make up their own stories. They alone, fill in the blanks and they talk about it behind her back. 

They whisper and talk about the strange little girl with the absent father and the unbelieving mother who is the reason she has to sneak out to go to church. 

Usually, she ignores them. 

The third time she saw (felt) Castiel, it was an accident. 

She hadn’t been searching for him – actually later she realizes _that_ she had been searching for him, subconsciously, though she knew (somehow) that she’d never find him again. The point is, really, that that random day she hadn’t been searching for him. She’d just been walking through town searching for a gift for her mother’s birthday, when she saw him. Or more precisely, she saw that damn trench coat – the thing that had once belonged to her father and the angel always wore it; at least he had worn it those times that she saw him (and that image hurt her because he wore as if it belonged to him, when in reality it belonged to Jimmy Novak.) It hadn’t been the first time she saw a trench coat and ran towards it, but it had never been him before, always someone else or a figment of her imagination, gone in the blink of an eye, and as such she had taught herself not to feel any hope. 

That day though, that stupid random day, she’d seen a trench coat far away – at the other side of the street – and like always she’d gravitated towards it, just to make sure it really wasn’t him. 

Except, of course, this time it was him. 

Castiel, the angel who had one day taken her father and walked away, stood before her suddenly in the middle of a crowded street in a random town in America. Despite all the people around them, all the talking, she felt like they were the only two beings in the entire world, standing in a bubble of silence. She had known already that it wasn’t her father from the way he was walking, but somehow he didn’t feel like Castiel, either. He was different somehow, more powerful – that was another thing about her now. Every time he or another angel were near her she could almost _feel_ their powers, their presence, as if somehow the angel’s essence knew that there was a little girl near that had once been one of them. It doesn’t matter. Castiel also seemed colder, somehow – not that he’d ever actually been warm, at least not the two times she met him, but now he just seemed, _wrong._ She couldn’t really explain how she knew this, just like she could explain nothing else about being an angel. 

And then, suddenly, there was sound again, though it had probably never gone away, most likely she’d simply been in shock. 

She’d never expected to find him after all. 

“Claire Novak.”

He spoke with her father’s voice, but he sounded nothing like him. He sounded like his angel self and yet at the same time not. He sounded like he was somehow something _more._ She supposed she could ask what was going on, what he was doing here and why he’d stopped when he heard her approach – she wonders if he’d known it was her coming up behind him, and then decides that it doesn’t really matter. She suspects that Castiel _would_ have answered her, but she felt, deep down, that she did not want to know, that she did not want to understand or hear any explanations for what she had been feeling these past years. Something had happened, she knew this, something big and bad, this she _knew._ She’d been tempted over the years to call Castiel or one of his friends and demand explanations, but she never had. She’d been afraid, really - afraid to know what truly happened, afraid to understand what was wrong with the world and she was still afraid, that was true. But that wasn’t really the reason she didn’t ask now. It was his voice, the way he sounded. The thing was, she’d learned to distinguish between the way her father spoke and the way Castiel did and what he felt like when _he_ spoke. Perhaps it was because she’d been him for a while and he’d used her to speak, but she could hear – despite him only having said her name – the subtle differences between the way he was back then and the way he was now. 

His tone was colder, matter-of-fact and he looked at her like she didn’t matter. 

And perhaps she didn’t, not really; perhaps to him, she had never been more than just a little girl. The daughter of his vessel, yes, and a vessel herself, but nothing more than a _little girl._ A girl he had promised to protect once upon a time – and she’s always believed that was why, while the whole world seemed to be ending around them a few years ago, the place they lived in was virtually unaffected. 

She said nothing, just stood in silence and just watched him. 

She’d never really thought about what she would say if she was ever to find herself face to face with her father (or Castiel) again. She had million things she _wanted_ to tell him, things she _wanted_ to ask, but now that she’s finally standing face to face with him again, she couldn’t find the words. Neither did he, not really, they just stood there in the middle of a crowded street and just stared at each other. Sometimes she wonders what they looked like to people, what the people that passed them by thought about this strange moment. But for some reason, nobody stopped to ask any questions or stare at them. She thinks, she’s not sure, but it seems somehow logical that Castiel had something to do with it, that somehow he was making sure the people ignored them, and she was grateful for that. Because she suspected that he would be gone the second someone paid attention to them. 

Finally after what seemed like hours, but was more than likely not more than a few minutes, she spoke. 

“Castiel.”

“Yes, is there something your require, Claire Novak?”

There are, of course, a lot of things Claire wants from him. Ask him to come back to her, that he somehow make everything that is wrong in her life better again, that he return the father he stole. The latter was really the only thing she really wanted from him, but it was also the one thing he couldn’t give her, because to do so would mean to leave this world forever or to take her instead - and her father had used his dying breath to take her place, insisted on it even, and that had to mean something, even to an angel. So she doesn’t ask him any of that, she knows the answer already after all. Instead she wracks her brain in an attempt to find something else to say. His eyes soften somewhat, as if he knows what she’s thinking, what she wants but cannot have. But he says nothing. She doesn’t ask about her father (even though she wants to), instead she asks a stupid random question and the truth is, she only asked because she had this overwhelming feeling that she was _supposed_ to ask him for something.

“I need the perfect gift for my mother’s birthday, but I don’t know what it is.”

He looks at her for the longest time, as if he knows that this is a stupid request, and she herself is aware of it as well, but he waves his hand anyway. He acts as if she’s truly the one little girl in the world he can’t deny even the most random thing, or perhaps this is the way he would now act with anyone who’s smart enough to ask. (She probably can ask him for anything – but what she truly wants – because he _does_ owe her everything.) She looks around to see if someone has noticed that a bag has quite suddenly appeared in her arms as if by magic, but everybody was still going about their normal lives as if they weren’t there (and maybe they weren’t, maybe this was all some kind of a dream.) 

“Goodbye Claire Novak. If you need something else, just ask.”

She wants to tell him to stop, to wait a moment and explain all that has happened since she last saw him. She wants to ask him why he feels the need to say her full name every single time he talks to her. She wants to know why he chose _them_ , why not some other family. She wants to know if there is some real explanation for it, or if it was just another random coincidence. She wants to know what is happening _now_. But she doesn’t ask, because by the time she gathers her courage he’s gone, he’s gone too fast really. She just looks down at the bag in her hand for a second, and when she looks up again, he’s gone. Like he knew she’d never ask anything else. Like he knew she’d never be able to find the right words. Like he was afraid she _would._

She gives her mother the present, without knowing what’s in the bag, and she’s happier in the end than Claire has seen her in years. Which ultimately means that Castiel somehow managed to guess the perfect gift for her mother, as it turns out it’s something her mother has been looking for, for years. She asks Claire how she knew that’s what she wanted before hugging her. Claire never tells her that she didn’t know, that she didn’t guess, that it was Castiel she saw and Castiel who knew (and sometimes Claire wonders _how_ he knew. She thinks that, most likely, somehow her father told him.) 

It would just destroy her happiness. 

Later that night, after the celebrations are done, she looks out the window at the sky and realizes quite suddenly that _something_ has happened even if she didn’t fully understand _what_ it was. She can feel it, deep down. Something out there isn’t quite right anymore – and yet at the same time it is right – and whatever has happened has something to do with Castiel (and she considers, briefly, calling him, but something deep inside tells her that this time he will not come.) Later she dreams of rivers and bloody trench coats and black stuff that disappear in sewers. When she wakes she’s shaking and crying - but she doesn’t _know why._

In the morning she’ll tell her mom they need to move away again. 

And her mother, who knows by now that Claire is always right about these things, will just pack up her things and move them away. (In the beginning, the first time Claire said they should move, her mother had not listened and there were demons, though truthfully? They had not gotten close to them. Still, ever since that moment, whenever Claire says they should move they move. She thinks, briefly, that her mother must believe that Castiel, somehow, is telling her these things. Perhaps he is, though she couldn’t tell you how he does or even if he does it on purpose.)

They never say goodbye to the neighbors they leave behind. 

Perhaps, Claire thinks, this is why she doesn’t really have friends. 

 

 

She’s different now.

Most people can’t really tell, because they didn’t know her before – when her father was still home and the world was a safe place filled with happiness and demons and angels were _nothing_ but a story. If she were to, somehow, run into the friends and acquaintances that knew her back then – and, really, the only ones she still sees are members of her family and she knows they wonder at times were their Claire went – then they would know that the Claire they see now is not the Claire they knew back then. Some, like her grandmother, for instance, would think that perhaps it was normal, just a part of growing up and, if it could not be explained that way, than surely it was simply a reaction to her father’s sudden disappearance. Most people, however, would never think that, because they would never, ever _know_ her. Her mother knows her, though, both in the before and now and sometimes she looks at her as if she’s wondering whatever happened to her innocent little girl.

She’s not that girl anymore, little innocent Claire Novak. She’s older, she’s wiser, she knows more now. And, most importantly, she was once an angel.

The thing about differences is that people who knew her in the past – most notably her family – tended to ignore the major differences in her. Because she was just a little girl, she supposes, and she was still growing and change was a part of that and because her father had disappeared suddenly without a word and her mother insisted on moving her around the country (and what they don’t say, what they don’t want to acknowledge is that the world itself is somehow _different._ ) They, namely her grandmother – her father’s mother, actually. Sometimes she wonders if she, too, could have been Castiel’s vessel, or if it came from her grandfather’s side of the family. The point is her grandmother focuses on her mother, like always – in fact, according to her mother her grandmother has never actually liked her – and blames her for all that has happened. Surely she must have done something to drive Jimmy away or done something _to_ him, because her little boy would never leave his daughter behind for no reason – and Claire supposes he didn’t. Actually, he _had_ a reason but her grandmother, of course, did not know that – and now after all that, her mother had decided to stop going to church. And of course Claire hates the fact that in her grandmother’s eyes her mother is refusing to allow Claire to go to church. And Claire can’t tell her what happened to her son. She can’t tell her that, of course her mother doesn’t want to go to church! The angels stole her husband, after all, and demons tried to kill them all, and only one angel came to help (and that _after_ she’d been possessed, her daughter tied up and her husband shot.)

Her grandmother even takes them to court once to take her away, but she didn’t succeed (and Claire suspects that Castiel had something to do with that.)

And all of that, and so much more, is the reason Claire no longer sees her family.

She doesn’t really mind.

If she’s honest, not all things that have changed about her are necessarily a _bad_ thing. Like, for instance, her new-found expertise at history – seriously, she knows things now, she’s never learned and things that no one else on this earth even knows. It’s almost like Castiel poured all the information he had acquired over the millennia in her brain but she hadn’t been able to process it all and, for some bizarre reason, it was the history that stuck around. Other things are easier to learn now like languages – it’s almost like her brain is now able to pick up things it was not before. French and Spanish are now among her best classes. It’s not just the ones she learns in school though. That first week after Castiel left she’d been hyperaware – it had caused more than one headache – and for some reason she’d ended up watching some Greek cooking show on TV and she’d understood _every_ word (which totally freaked her out) even though she had never even thought about studying Greek. Thankfully, that went away after about a week – and she’s still not sure if it was just Greek or if she could have understood _any_ language. She never tried to find out, and though she can no longer understand it, she does suspect that were she to decide to learn any language, it would turn out to be the easiest thing in the world. She never tries, because she’s far too afraid that it _would_ indeed be far too easy to learn it (perhaps someday, when she decides to go to college, she might decide to learn new languages, but that is a long time away.)

Other things stay the same: she still sucks at P.E. and she still doesn’t have that many friends and math is still a _nightmare._

And then, then there are those things that now, almost, s _care_ her. She knows, for instance, things that have happened in the past that nobody else does – things that nobody _should_ know – and sometimes, especially in the beginning, she’d say them out loud and people would look at her as if she’d somehow lost her mind (most would then tell her that having an imagination is a great thing but not when one is dealing with actual _facts.)_ At night she dreams about that things that happen far, far away; terrible things that always have something to do with Castiel. She knows – and she can never truly explain how she knows – when the place they are living in is no longer safe, when something around them has gone terribly wrong and they need to flee (and the first time it happened it had freaked her out, because how the hell could she know that?) Now that she’s older, she thinks it really is Castiel that somehow sends her these messages, though she’s not sure if he’s ever actually _known_ he was doing it.

(Once, in a cold Winter’s night, she’d dreamed of _another_ angel – and she’d known he was an angel even without being told – who told her his name was Joshua and that she should run, go far from where she is now and to never talk to Castiel again. He came back, about a year later, telling her that all was well again and she should no longer really fear Castiel. She hadn’t listened to him – and she thinks that Joshua knew that she wouldn’t, but that he’d felt that he should at least give his warning – because the only angel she trusted, despite all that had happened, was Castiel.)

She just _knows_ when something is wrong with the world (though she never knows what is wrong with it.)

Most terrifying of all, she can still see the true faces of demons – faces that she had only briefly glimpsed when she had been Castiel. He had tried to shield her from them, and they had scared her so much she’d had nightmares about them for weeks. She’d hoped, in the immediate aftermath of it all, that she would never have to see them again. Sadly, she had been proven wrong just a few weeks later. (It never went away, either -though after a few years she got used to it. Which was scarier than being able to see it in the first place.) The first time it happened she’d _screamed_ – so sure she had been that they’d come for her - but the demon barely glanced at her, at least not until he realized she could s _ee_ him – and she’d run away and people had stared at her. But if they’d said something, she’d been gone before she heard it. (They always moved away when Claire saw a demon, just in case.)

Her mother would tell her that she acted different. That at times it almost seemed like she was another person, and truthfully she _felt_ like a different person. Like that little girl that had loved her father and had once played an angel in a play had faded away and had not been _her._

Because she’d been an angel. She had been _more._

There was another random thing – strange and confusing, but also kind of funny in a way that probably only she understood. She had a sudden newfound ability to quote the Bible, and she really doesn’t know _why_ she remembered _that._ It was all there in her head. She could finish quotes; point out where something was written down in just a second – despite the fact that she had never actually read the Bible. (This ability, thankfully, faded away over the years until one day it was just completely gone. Not that she ever truly used it.)

Sometimes, she wonders what humans know after demons have possessed them; if those demons have left them with some kind of knowledge they did not have before. Could they suddenly quote books about demons or quote the part of the Bible that spoke of the devil and the end of the world? Or did they leave them with nothing but the memories of the horrible things they did while in their bodies? Sometimes she thinks about asking her mother, but she never actually does. She doesn’t want to hurt her or make her think about it, but also because she’s afraid of what the actual answer is.

Her opinions had changed, too - but she thinks that’s probably normal, just a part of growing up. But not many people – she knows there must be others out there, but she hopes that there is really nobody out there that can understand what she is going through – do not grow up so suddenly because an angel changed their whole world.

She’s _special_ like that.

She doesn’t really feel special.

 

 

Afterwards _everyone_ is talking about _it._

What happened in that church, the man that claimed to be God, the man that was trying to change so much about the world. It’s really her own fault, Claire figures. She really _should_ have known but better than to join this particular group, but somehow she’d felt compelled to do it (though she admits it was also because it was mandatory to join a group and this was the only one that felt somehow safe - at least until that week.) Somehow, it also strangely felt like it would bring her closer to her father, who had always been very religious, and to Castiel. It was somewhat fun to sit among other kids who believed in these things, though nobody actually knows they’re truth. Not like she does. Actually, that’s probably not true. There must be others like her out there, but nobody talks about it because everybody that hears it will probably think they are crazy. But then, if they don’t really talk about it, they’ll never know if there is somebody else like them out there (it’s a vicious circle she can’t get out of, but then she’s not sure she wants to.)

Most of the time, they allow her to sit in silence and keep her opinions to herself. But not this week, not after all that has happened;  not _today._

(She should have known better than to come.)

They want to know what she thinks of all this. They want her to be a part of the heated discussion that would soon turn into an argument between those that believed that the man is God - or at least, that he’s a message from God and those that believe it’s a hoax. She doesn’t know what to say though, not at all. She wishes she could say that yes, it’s all true and that angels are real and how did she knows this? Because the man they speak of, in his trench coat, is her father, but he’s not really because there is an angel – Castiel, the angel of Thursday to be precise –  inside him and she knows he is an angel because she has _felt_ him. But he is not God, he has never been. She wants to say that, but she doesn’t, because they might think she is crazy – and she’s not sure if it would be any better if they actually believed her – and besides she had seen Castiel a few days ago (but whatever it was that happened had already passed by now she _knows_ this, like she knows so many other things) and he had been different, more, stronger, _colder_.

In the end she sides with the group that believes it’s the truth because Beth is on that team and she is very vocal about her opinions. If you’re on her team you’ll never, ever have to actually say something.

It is the last time she goes to that group.

A week later, they move again.

No matter what they say or how much they fail her, she never joins another High School Group again.

She thinks about Castiel sometimes, about praying to him (finally) and asking him if he _is_ God now, if he has somehow changed on her, but she never does.

Somehow, she knows he won’t answer her.

Not this time.

 

 

One night, she dreams of a girl she’s never seen yet somehow strangely knows.

Sometimes Claire wonders if the angel, for surely she was an angel, actually came into her dreams to talk to her or if it was just a simple dream. She’s sitting on a swing – a swing, Claire realizes suddenly, she once sat on, long ago, when her father used to take her to this playground and she remembers how she sat on that swing with her eyes closed and how her father used to push and make her feel like she could fly. She walks slowly towards the girl she does not know, yet she’s not afraid. Perhaps it’s because it is a dream and she doesn’t think anything can truly happen to her here, or perhaps it’s because she knows – like she’s always known and always will – that Castiel is just a call away and would protect her even in her dreams (if such a thing was possible, of course.)

She doesn’t know who the girl is, but she can sense this: this is a friend of Castiel.

“Who are you?”

“Anna. Why don’t you have a seat, Claire?”

For a moment Claire considers sitting on the other swing, but it reminds her of her father and how they used to laugh as they played, and it _hurts_ so much. Instead, she sits on the sand in front of Anna almost, she realizes much later, as if she was kneeling in prayer. She wonders, sometimes, if that is how Anna saw it, if Anna had truly been there.

“Why are you in my dream?”

“I wished to speak to you, my child. To make sure you were alright and truly understood all that has happened.”

“But how did you get in here?”

“It is difficult to explain and besides, you need not know this.”

“I still don’t know who you are.”

“I am a friend of Castiel.”

“I know. That doesn’t really tell me anything.”

“What do you want to know?”

“What is happening out there?”

“Bad things, my child, very bad things. But these should not concern you, for nothing will happen to you. Perhaps it would be better if you were to forget all of this has happened.”

For a moment Claire wonders if Anna is actually capable of that, robbing her of her memories. Though she realizes that if she does, it might not hurt this much, she does not want to forget any of it.

“My father is out there.”

“I know.”

“I do not want to forget him or Castiel.”

“I know that, too. Still it might be better.”

“No. It would be worse.”

“You would not know the difference, not really. You are young, very young. You should not know the things you do. It is too much for you and you can’t understand all that has happened and still will happen.”

“Then explain it.”’

“I wouldn’t know how to begin. Besides, it is not my place, nor is there any time to explain anything. Perhaps Castiel is right and you should know all this.”

“Where is he?”

“Can you not tell? Never mind…he… _they’re_ trying to save the world.”

“From what?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

“If you are only here to talk in riddles and not tell me anything, then why did you bother coming?”

“I came to warn you, Claire Novak, that there are angels out there that might try to harm you and lie to you.”

“Which angels?”

“I know this: never trust an angel named Zachariah. Always believe that he is the worst out there and wants to harm you. Never trust him, no matter what he promises you.”

“Harm me? How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just _remember.”_

“Harm me or Castiel?”

“You’re a smart one. But then, I suppose you would be. Both, but mostly him. It would be easier to harm you to get to him, because you are easier to attack. Do not trust him, my child.  He does not care for you or anybody.”

Anna puts a hand on her cheek then, and Claire feels safe. It’s almost like she’s back with Castiel – it’s almost the same, almost enough but not quite – where she belongs, protected from everything that would try to harm her. Claire leans into her touch without realizing she’s doing it, wanting to soak in all the love and light of an angel. She can feel her slipping away, disappearing to wherever it is she belongs in this story - but Claire is not ready to be alone again.

“Do not go yet, please, tell me - will I see him again?”

“Your father? Or Castiel?”

“Both. Either.”

“I do not know, I don’t everything. Perhaps, someday, you will. I am sorry for all that has happened to you.”

“Will I see _you_ again?”

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure we were ever meant to meet. Goodbye Claire.”

“Don’t go! Please, don’t leave me alone.”

“Everything will be alright someday, you’ll see. Just remember what I said.”

Then she’s gone, faded away, gone in the blink of an eye. Claire sits alone in a playground she once played in, wondering if the angel that sat there had been real or not.

She wakes later with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

She never sees Anna again.

(She never asks about her either.)

 

 

 

The first time she sees Brian is on her second day in her new high school, in the year she turns sixteen.

He’d been walking down the hallways surrounded by his friends – the whole basketball team as it turned out – and she had only truly noticed him because Sally had pointed him out, determined as she was to make sure Claire knew everything there was to know about everyone in school (or at least the popular kids.) She’d met Sally the day before and from that time on, the other girl would call them best friends – Claire supposes that Sally is right, they spend every moment together after all. But Sally knows nothing about her, and she doesn’t really care to find out, so Claire is not sure how good a friends they really are. Mostly Claire likes her because she talks non-stop – of course, she’s also nice – and she doesn’t see the need for Claire to interrupt her. Claire knows she could if she wanted to, but she doesn’t. (The thing she likes the most about Sally? Even after realizing that she had no father, the other girl never asked about that.)

She hadn’t paid that much attention to Brian that day beyond acknowledging that he was probably the most popular kid in the whole school and, admittedly, quite hot. But Claire knew enough about high school to understand that she wasn’t and never would be popular, and that a guy like Brian would never notice her (not that, at the time, she really wanted him to.) Brian, as it would turn out, had in fact noticed her and liked her and, about three weeks later, had asked her out to the dance. She hadn’t gone. She’d mumbled something about still getting used to the new school and having to help her mom on that day. Brian had smiled and said, “Okay, I’ll ask again later.” And he did, multiple times. She had to admit he was definitely persistent, but she didn’t think they would be staying and she didn’t want to get attached to anyone. Besides how could he begin to understand her?

One night, about two weeks after the dance, she dreamed of the last time she saw her father, lying on the ground, bleeding from a gunshot wound, giving up on eternal peace so she could have a _life._

She wakes with the realization that her father would have wanted her to be happy. He would not have wanted her to live like this. He did not give up everything for her to hide away from the world. (She ignores the pain when she realizes that her father will never see her first boyfriend, he’ll never be there at her graduation and, should she choose to marry, he’ll never dance with her.)

The next time Brian asks her out, she says yes.

The first time they kiss is on their first date, outside the movie theater they’ve just exited.

(Both events happened on a Thursday.)

 

 

 

 

 

Their first big argument happens in January – when they’ve been dating for about four months – and it’s, without a doubt, the strangest argument she’s ever had.

It’s about her cellphone or, more precisely, it’s about the numbers on her speed dial. Actually, it’s about the fact that his number is _not_ on her speed dial, nor is it actually in her phone (it’s not like she calls him that often anyway, he’s usually the one to call her so she doesn’t fully understand what the point is.) Brian has gotten into her head – and Claire knows that it comes from Sally, because the other girl also finds this strange and they’ve had multiple disagreements about it – that _he_ should be the number one on her speed dial because he’s her boyfriend and she loves him and Sally should be number two because she’s the best friend. Her cellphone, he feels, should attest to the fact that they are the two most important persons in her life. He tells her that it would all be fine if her mother was number one, but according to him her speed dial makes no sense – and alright, Claire will attest to that one – and since she won’t explain any of it to him it must all mean that she doesn’t actually love him. And then, of course, there’s the fact that she doesn’t even take the time to memorize his number, but since he’s the one to always call her, she’s still not sure what the whole point is.

The thing is, Claire can’t explain it because the truth would make her sound crazy. She’s never been able to think of a convincing lie for it all.

What is she supposed tell him? That the first number on her speed dial belongs to an angel that speaks with the voice of her father – and it’s an extremely long story how she even managed to get the number – and is a number she would never actually dial? After all, she need only call his name for his assistance, but it is extremely comforting to have it. She would never use it because she doesn’t want to hear the voice and know it is not her father. Should she tell him, perhaps, that the next two numbers belong to two brothers who once saved her life and the third to a man named Bobby who, according to Dean Winchester, would help her? How is she supposed to explain that those numbers are on her speed dial in case demons attack and she needs to contact them? That he and Sally are not on her speed dial because she’s afraid of accidentally calling them in a moment of need and dying as a result of it?

He’d call her crazy. He’d laugh with her.

So she says nothing. In the end he gets so angry, that he breaks up with her on the spot.

(Somehow she thinks that the whole thing is completely ridiculous and that if he broke up with her over that, then _he_ must not have truly loved _her._ )

Sally stops coming around, too.

It doesn’t really surprise her.

 

 

She’s always safe, she’s always protected. She _knows_ this.

There is an angel somewhere, after all, that has sworn to protect her. There are times that Claire almost senses him near her – she can always feel him, somewhat. No matter how far he is, that connection never goes away, but at times he feels _closer._ Once she swears he saves her from falling to her death – or at least from a couple of broken bones – and another time he saves her from some creepy looking dude that had been following her for two blocks. All right, she’ll admit she might have prayed for his assistance with that one. Perhaps that was why most things that others found scary did not scare _her._

Because she can still feel her angel, always.

And yet there are times she feels _nothing._

Like he’s faded away somehow, disappeared and gone somewhere else, somewhere where she can’t reach him anymore – and she’s afraid of what that means. Because, if it means what she thinks it means, it will break her heart and destroy all she knows. Usually the feeling doesn’t last long, just a little while, but it is long enough to make her feel abandoned again, to make her feel _empty._ And then, one night – just after gives her her mother’s gift – she wakes feeling _almost_ nothing, like he’s not completely faded away but gone enough that she can no longer feel or reach him. She doesn’t try to, because for the first time she actually fears he won’t come and she thinks that if he doesn’t, it would break her heart because she knows he’s _somewhere_.

_That_ feeling lasts almost a year.

Then he’s back, suddenly, before he fades completely and this time the feeling of emptiness _stays._

She’s alone.

She’s abandoned.

She’s scared.

She’s no longer protected.

She doesn’t tell her mother. She doesn’t want to scare her.

A year and a half later she feels him again, far away, just like always. She can honestly say she’s never been happier.

She still doesn’t call to him.

 

 

She has a picture, somewhere, of her and her father on her first day of kindergarten.

She doesn’t actually remember that day but she’s heard the tale a million times. Her mother loved telling it – not her father though - because _he_ had been the one to get lost three times and _he_ had been the one who had cried, not the child who was about to be left at an unfamiliar place. The truth is that while she was growing up, that day had never truly seemed important and that picture had always been lost between all the others. But somehow, in the year _after_ her father left, _every_ picture became important (she supposes that that is somewhat normal.) She’d found it in the back of an album and she’d fallen in love with it, though she’s not truly sure why. She and her father hadn’t known their picture was being taken – maybe that’s why because it wasn’t a pose. She’s pulling away from him, walking towards the school and a new world and he’s holding her hand as if he doesn’t want to let her go - as if he’s afraid he’ll lose her if she lets go. But he had let her go, of course he had, and she had grown and that moment had faded away.

She takes that picture everywhere.

She wonders if he ever remembers it.

She wonders if _Castiel_ does.

 

 

At age six she got the chicken pox.

Actually everybody in her class got the damn illness – mostly because the parents of her friend Tommy, who’d moved away the year after that and whom she never actually saw again, thought it would be a good idea to send him to school while he was ill. She’d hated him – not really hate, of course, but the itching was terrible so it was close enough – the whole time she spends in bed. (She did not like being confined to her bed.) Her mother would bring her food and everything she needed and her father would read her any story she wanted to hear – more so than when she _wasn’t_ sick and when he thought she’d fallen asleep – though she hadn’t yet – he’d place a soft kiss on her forehead and whispered he loved her before going to his own room (but always he left the door open in case she needed them.)

Once, when she was seven, she went ‘missing’.

Well not exactly _missing_ , she and Tommy – it was about a week before he’d moved away – and a bunch of other kids from her class were going to a little art school (which was basically twenty kids and a teacher who kept the busy on Wednesday afternoons after school for a while) but that day, for some reason, the teacher hadn’t been there. Her father had already left by then – assuming, which he’d always call himself stupid for, that the teacher was just inside – and so they’d decided just to go to Tommy’s house, which wasn’t that far, and play some games. It never occurred to them that their parents – that her father – would be worried when they returned to the little school and didn’t find them there but they were seven and all that really mattered was that they could _play._ They’d considered, at first, returning to the school when their parents would pick them up, but they’d forgotten. They’d only been ‘missing’ for about twenty minutes, but according to him it was the longest twenty minutes of his life.

Until that day, she’d never considered that parents could be _scared._

 

 

 

 

One year, for Christmas, she got a green bike (to this day, she has no idea why it was _green_ of all things but she supposes that didn’t really matter. At least it hadn’t been _pink._ That would have been terrible.)

Her father was the one who taught her how to ride it and she remembers it clearly, remembers how _he_ was the one who was scared, even though he kept saying she was the one who was, and that she was the one who just wanted to ride. Her mother had been worried at least she’d _seemed_ worried, and she had filmed the entire thing (Claire is grateful that the video exists because that means that her father is right there on that tape, though she can’t bring herself to look at it.) She’d ridden around in front of their house while her father kept her balanced by holding the back of her bike. All her ‘classes’ went like that until the day she’d felt she was ready to out on her own. She’d turned to him and said: “I’m ready, daddy, let me go.”

“No, honey. You’re not ready yet.”

“Yes, I am! Yes, I am.”

It was quite clear, even to her, that it was he who wasn’t ready for her to try on her own yet. But in the end he’d relented and let go. She’d ridden away from her parents and she’d felt _free._

And her parents, her mother with a video camera in hand, had stood there and watched her go.

She’d stopped and turned back ten seconds later, of course (she wasn’t ready to fly away just yet.)

She would forever remember that Thursday.

Even now, after so many years have passed, they still have that bike, buried somewhere between all the junk they keep moving from town to town. Claire has no idea why they do this. She hasn’t ridden it in years, though and she’s probably too big for it by now. But somehow, she’s comforted by the fact that that stupid green bike is still in her possession.

She thinks she’ll keep it forever.

 

 

She’d graduated from High school on yet another Thursday.

A part of her – she won’t deny it – had wished that her father, or at least Castiel, would be amongst the crowd when she received her diploma but he was not there. He’s somewhere though, she can tell – he’d returned from wherever he’d gone a few weeks before that – and she supposes she shouldn’t be so disappointed. aAter all they probably don’t actually know when her graduation is (and it’s not like she took the time to inform them – she keeps thinking about them as a team instead of just one person.) Still, it hurts when she doesn’t see him, even though she hadn’t truly expected to find him there. That night, after the celebrations are done, she is tempted to call for him – because surely she has the right to see her father on the day she graduates from high school even if he is currently an angel? She didn’t – though it was the closest she’d ever come to calling for him. Instead she’d lain in her bed and tried to figure out what she would be doing next.

Her mother wanted her to go to college.

And though she had gotten into some colleges and a part of her really wanted to go, at the same time she didn’t really feel ready yet – and even if she never went to college, she still knew more than most other people unless they’d been angels themselves. The truth was Claire wanted to travel. She wanted to see the places she’d learned about thanks to her angel. She wanted to stand in the places Castiel had once visited and learn everything about the world out there by _seeing it._ She’d put off telling her mother until after she’d graduated, but she thinks that somehow her mother had always known what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go even before Claire herself did. And though she argued _for_ college she didn’t put up much a fight. Instead, she told Claire that if she wanted to go, she of course could – there was nothing, after all, that could stop her. Amelia knew her daughter would be safe, safer than most other people, because Castiel was somewhere out there ready to protect her in a flash – but that before she went, she should plan her trip carefully.

Claire had decided to go to New York first (mostly because it sounded like the kind of place she should at least see once) and then just go north.

One day, while waiting for her bus to arrive at a bus station, she saw _him_ in her father’s trench coat, completely within her reach again. For a moment, seated on that old bench in the station, she’d considered not going to him. She’d considered staying where she was, but the pull had been too strong – it always was when she was near him. For once he was actually close enough that she could immediately sense that he was Castiel the angel. So, she’d walked to him with more confidence then she’d had the last few times she saw him. It took a moment for him to recognize her –of course it did, she had changed. She had grown from the little girl he had once seen into a teenager alone on the road while he had stayed the same. He had not changed at all but then, Claire figures that the changes in an angel probably wouldn’t be noticeable in his vessel (and it’s strange to think about her father that way but it makes it easier to talk to Castiel.) 

This time _she’s_ the first to speak.

“Castiel.”

“Claire Novak.”

He is different again, she can tell, different from the last time she saw him. He is more like he had been when he was with her. Calmer somehow, more at peace. He had a purpose now, something that he needed to do and it grounded him (and no, she really can’t explain how she knows all that, but she’s gotten so used to knowing these things when she’s near him that she never thinks about it.) Still, despite that he also seems sad, like something has happened between then and now, something that has changed him completely (and there is guilt too, hidden by all the other emotions. Claire isn’t sure if it’s guilt because of something he did or because he’s talking to a little girl whose father he stole.)

“Why are you here, Castiel?”

“I am…traveling.”

“Traveling? On a bus?”

“Yes, I must protect something from the other angels. It is harder to be found this way.”

She’s tempted to ask him what is that needs protecting and why it must be protected from the other angels, but something tells her that he won’t answer her. Besides, she doesn’t really think it’s her business. She’s not sure what else to say, though, because even though she still has a million questions she knows by now that she’ll never get any answers. She has accepted that – she accepted most of what had happened years ago and she no longer blamed the angel for anything (if she had ever blamed him at all.)

“Why are you here, Claire Novak?”

“I’m traveling too, trying to see the world.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Claire wonders, briefly, what everybody around thinks about them. It must look strange, and she wonders, too, if Castiel is somehow making sure again that they don’t see them (she’s not sure if it’s necessary though.) A woman’s voice calls out the passengers of the bus she’s taken, and for a moment she wants to _not_ go. She wants to stay with her angel and bask in his power and his strength and his peace, but she’s learned that she’ll never have that again and something tells her that being around Castiel isn’t truly safe anymore. She knows she must go but she can’t go without knowing one thing. She just doesn’t really know how to ask.

“That’s my bus.”

“You should go, then.”

“I should. Castiel?”

“Yes, Claire Novak?”

“Is my father still with you?”

He doesn’t look shocked, as if he’d been expecting that question ever since they met again. She wonders, briefly, if he would lie to her, if he would tell her what she wanted to hear (or what he thought she wanted to hear) as opposed to the truth. But she thinks he would tell her the truth, if only because she would be able to tell if he lied to her (at least she _thinks_ she would be able to.)

“No, he went to heaven years ago when we were destroyed fighting the Apocalypse. It doesn’t really matter. He is safe now, Claire Novak, safe and at peace where he belongs.”

“Will I see him again?”

“Someday.”

“Thank you, Castiel.”

“For what?”

“For telling me. I have to go.”

She turns to leave, not sure if she should actually say goodbye. She takes a couple of steps before he calls to her.

“Claire Novak… I am sorry.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

She supposes that’s the closest she will ever get to a real apology from an angel, the closest she will get to him acknowledging all that has happened. She realizes in that moment that though she has accepted all that has happened and forgiven him completely, _he_ doesn’t know that.

“It’s okay, Castiel. It’s all okay.”

And then, before she can change her mind, she walks back towards him and hugs him, just like she used to hug her father years ago. He’s slow to respond, but eventually he hugs her back – and she wonders if he’s actually ever been hugged before – and for a moment, when she closes her eyes, she almost feels like she’s a child again in her father’s arm before the world fell apart. But she’s not she’s a teenager in a bus station somewhere in America in the arms of an angel. She lets go after a few seconds and this time, before she leaves, she does tell him goodbye – and there is a part of her that almost feels like she will never see him again and perhaps she won’t. Because this time there is peace, and perhaps that is what Castiel needed from her, peace and forgiveness.

(She was born on a Thursday long ago, and so was her father.)

She boards the bus and sits in the backseat and looks out at the window and sees him standing there, _her_ angel. He doesn’t wave. He doesn’t do anything but stand and stare, but she knows he’s bidding her farewell. The first time she saw Castiel, so many years ago, she hadn’t known he was an angel and she figures that if he had never been inside her she would still not know that the man in a trench coat standing there is so much more than what he appears. She stares out the window at Castiel, and keeps watching as the bus drives away and watches him get smaller and smaller, until eventually he just fades away as if he’d never been there.

It’s the last time she sees him.

It’s also a Thursday.

(It’s probably a coincidence.)

 

 

It’s the screams that wake her.

They’re loud and they’re everywhere, they’re screaming in pain, in anger, in fear, in sadness. She can hear them and yet she doesn’t think she really can. She thinks, briefly, as she sits up shaking in her bed, that it’s like being able to sense that other angels are near her.  Something bad has happened to the angels and whatever it is, their feelings are so strong she can pick them up as if they’re hers. There are no other people up; nobody else is moving in the hallways of the place she’s sleeping in, which means that she’s the only one who can hear them scream. The night sky is _lighting_ up.

If she didn’t know about the angels, about the reality of heaven, she might have been tempted to believe it was a freak meteor shower. But she _knows better._ It scares her – it’s difficult to breathe – and she’s shaking and she knows she has to stop but she can’t make herself. She can see them - the angels falling to the earth. She can hear them all around her, but she can no longer sense him. Castiel. He’s gone. (Not gone like the other times, gone like he was somewhere but he was no longer an angel, if such a thing was possible, and as such she could never feel him again.) She’s terrified – not even those demons had scared her like this, this was somewhere deep inside her - the part of her that belonged to Castiel that was screaming, begging, for its angel but the angel could not come back. She _screams_ his name into the night sky – she’s not sure when she made it outside – until her voice is hoarse. But he never comes. He never can. (She knows he can’t, because if he could, he would be there just to make sure she was all right.) She falls to her knees because the screaming and the loneliness and the emptiness and the fear and the sadness are _too much._ She covers her ears and closes her eyes , willing everything to go away, trying to drown it all out - but she _can’t._ It’s like it’s all a part of her (and it is, it is.)

She’s not sure how long she sits there.

She was still whispering his name, unable to scream anymore, when she realized that the world had gone silent again. Though she’d wished for it all to stop, she now knew that the silence was so much _worse._ Because somehow – and she doesn’t know how but she knows it’s bad – the angels have fallen. They have been shattered and the silence means it’s all over. But she knows that some angels must have fallen near her but she could no longer sense them the way she did before, and she knew that meant that whatever had happened was worse than she thought. (Most terrifying of all, she could still not sense Castiel at all, and he had not responded to her calls the first time ever she had called for him –which meant that he could not and that was terrible.)

She did not get up even when the screaming stopped. She stayed on her knees, her eyes closed, her ears covered until she could no longer whisper his name, until her knees and arms ached, until the moment she realized that she was crying (it might have been hours, it could have been minutes, she’s never been sure.) Eventually she opens her eyes, only because she has to, and the night sky is normal again. There are no more angels, no more flames, no more screaming and it’s bad.

There’s an angel (a _dead_ angel) lying a few feet from her.

(She wonders, shaking, if Castiel is laying somewhere like that, dead because of his fall, lost to her forever.)

She doesn’t know him at all.

She cries for him anyway and for all the others and for _her_ angel.

When she gets back up, she’ll call Dean’s number for information. But for now, she’ll mourn the angel that doesn’t have anyone that would miss him.

It’s Thursday, Claire realizes.

(Of course it is.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
